


Drumroll

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lars takes care of a sick James. Early 80s era fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drumroll

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for Cookies, as part of 2011's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich (Metallica): H/C with sick James.'

The quiet whining baby. How someone could whine quietly, Lars didn’t know, until James finally came down with the Metalliflu as they were calling it. Everyone had it by now. Started with Cliff’s roadie somewhere in Europe, went to Kirk, then Kirk’s roadie, then both he and Flemming had it coming back to California. James was the latest victim. Each one of them took turns taking care of him the past three days. Now Cliff and Kirk were gone for the weekend, and he was stuck with the big baby.

_BANG._

Lars sighed.

_BANG BANG._

A quietly whining, seriously bitchy, needy baby. 

_BANG. BANG BANG._

_I didn’t even complain this much, dammit._

_BANG BANG BANG—_

“I’m coming already, fuck!” He turned away from the stove for the cabinets, taking out a big bowl. “Have some fucking patience!”

_BANG BANG BANG—_

“If there’s a dent in my drum—”

_BANGBANGBANGBANG—_

“ _SHUT UP!_ ”

Silence.

Lars sighed. “Finally.”

He poured the soup into the bowl and was filling up a glass of water, when:

_BANG BANG, BAH-BANG BANG, BANG BANG BANG._

“Ugh.” _Now he’s actually drumming._

He picked up the tray of food and walked to the bedroom, the sounds getting louder. Out of all of them who had gotten sick, James was the only one who lost his voice. Pads of paper didn’t work. The bell Cliff found did—until James ‘Accident Boy’ Hetfield broke it. Had James not been his usual klutzy self, Lars wouldn’t have this problem. Then again, he was the one who gave James a toy drum to bang on in the first place.

_I’m an idiot._

Lars pushed open the door. Inside, in the farthest corner of the messy room, laid sick-as-a-dog James, red-face, sweaty, and a drumstick in hand, banging on the small toy snare in his lap.

“You can stop now, dick. I’m here.”

James grinned up. _BANG BANG BANG._

“Yes, hello to you too. Now put that down.”

_BANG._

“James. Put the drum down.”

_BANG._

“Don’t make me take it away from you.”

James frowned.

“Don’t give me that look!”

The frown deepened.

“Ugh. _James._ ”

Blue eyes went wide.

“That’s not going to work on me.”

They went even wider, shining a little.

“James fucking Hetfield.”

His lower lip wobbled. A soft whimper came out.

“Oh my God. Argh!” He dropped the tray to the floor to give his arms some reprieve. “Okay, all I’m asking is—”

_BANG._

“James!! Put the goddamn fucking thing down so you can fucking eat, alright?! Then you can bang that son of a bitch as much as you want!” He looked away, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. “ _Fandens. Du er så svært._ ”

_Tap tap._

“Oh what now?”

He looked back and found James smiling, pointing the stick to his mouth.

“Yes, I’m going to feed you. Now put it away.”

The small drum ended up on the floor with the stick. Lars situated himself beside James’s legs, maneuvering the tray onto James’s lap. He stirred the soup around while James took some ibuprofen with his water.

“Still got not voice, huh?” he asked.

James shook his head no.

“You probably have laryngitis. Thankfully we’re not on tour. Else we’d be fucked, huh?”

James nodded.

“Yeah. Well, don’t worry. You’ll get it back.” He brought the spoon to his own lips first, blowing it for a bit, and then lifted it to James’s mouth. “Here.”

He eased the spoon past James’s parted lips, keeping a steady hand underneath James’s chin to catch stray drops. A comfortable silence passed as he fed James spoonful by spoonful, pausing only to help him drink his water.

When the bowl was empty, Lars asked, “Liked it?”

James nodded.

“I added some spices to it this time. Gave it some flavor.” He smiled. “Not much you can do with chicken soup anyway.”

James smiled back. His lips formed the words: ‘Thank you.’

“No problem.” _You did the same for me._ He patted James’s hand on the bedspread, giving it a quick squeeze. “Want your toy now?”

James shook his head no.

“Okay then. Uh.” He looked around the room. “A comic book? Some porn? Your guitar—”

Fingers squeezed his hand.

Lars froze.

Soft lips kissed his cheek.

_James._

They pulled away slowly. Lars turned and found James nose-to-nose with him. His eyes were too blue up close. The same eyes that peeked into his room during the day, through the crack in the door.

The hand on his squeezed again. The same hand that brushed his forehead when no one was awake. The palm that laid on his skin multiple times, on his belly, his chest, checking the rise and fall of his breathing.

No one knew James did that. Lars probably wasn’t supposed to know either. But now James…

“James?”

He kissed him. He was holding his hand.

James leaned in.

Lars watched his parted lips drift close—

He jumped back when James’s head turned away.

“ _Achoo!_ ”

 _Damn._ He grabbed the napkin beside the water glass and handed it over. _So fucking close._ The tray rattled as James blew his nose. “You okay?”

James nodded, rubbing his nose. He balled up the paper, laying it on the tray.

“You want anything else?”

James shook his head.

“You sure?”

James nodded.

“Alright.” He picked up the tray. _Maybe another time. If I’m lucky._ “Glad you liked the food.” He stood up and gave a small smile to James. “You know what to do to get my attention.”

James smiled back.

Lars turned away, heading for the door. Steadying one hand on the tray, he flipped off the light with the other. “Get some rest. It’ll do you some good.”

Behind him he heard the shuffling of sheets. He turned back outside the door and found James curled up underneath the big comforter, head peeking out, hair messy on the pillows. Lars burned the image to his memory—James looked ridiculously sweet like this.

“Sleep well.”

He gently closed the door behind him.

Later on during the day, Lars checked up on him, peeking inside first to see if he was still asleep, and then tip-toeing in as to not disturb him. He pressed his palm to James’s warm forehead, feeling his fever had dipped considerably—a coil inside his stomach finally unwound. His hand laid on top of James’s belly nice, going with the rise and fall, the soft sound of James’s breathing a nice lullaby in the air.

His lips touched James last, brushing his cheek.

_Get well soon._

And as he left the room, Lars missed one blue eye peeking open through a curtain of blonde curls, followed by a big, boyish smile—and the sound of James’s perfectly fine voice whispering under the covers.

“Thanks Lars.”


End file.
